The Demoiselle and Derry
by Evie Delacourt
Summary: After completing her Deryni training at the Court of Andelon, Lady Celsie de Chervignon returns to Corwyn to take up her duties as inheratrix of her manorial lands, and also renews her acquaintance with the Earl of Derry. Sequel story to Demoiselle in Distress and Maidens of Mayhem.
1. Chapter 1

**The Demoiselle and Derry**

**Chapter One**

Sean Earl Derry stood at the Coroth docks, watching the latest shipment of horses from R'kassi being unloaded. His eyes were trained on a magnificent bay stallion being led to a nearby yard.

"Gorgeous conformation! I wonder how much that one's going for?" he wondered aloud as he watched the groom close the gate behind the handsome beast.

"He's not for sale," a silken female voice said behind him. "I've just purchased him for five-hundred Andelonian sovereigns. But I'm hoping to get a return on that, if you're willing to wait until I can breed him. I have a mare in my stables who is nearly that impressive, and I'm looking forward to seeing the foals she drops."

Derry whistled under his breath, not taking his eye off the horse. "Only five-hundred? I imagine _that _took quite a bit of bargaining!"

A soft chuckle. "You have_ no_ idea. I thought I was going to have to offer my firstborn child for a while there."

The Earl chuckled, turning to view the speaker. Long, lustrous gold hair fell in a cascade of curls, framing features belonging more to an angel than mortal woman. Celestial blue eyes smiled up at him. She looked vaguely familiar to Derry, but he couldn't place her at first, much to his chagrin. He couldn't imagine having met and then forgotten any woman so captivating. She was, if anything, more exquisite than the horse. And _that_ was saying quite a lot, coming from Lord Derry!

_I'd have taken you up on that offer, if you'd let me sire it!_ was Derry's initial thought. Fortunately his brain switched back on before he actually uttered the words. She looked to be a highborn lady, whoever she was. Certainly few commoners would be able to spend five hundred Andelonian sovereigns, even on prime breeding stock. In either case, he certainly didn't wish to give insult.

"Hello, Sean."

He stared at her in shock. Something about the tilt of her head, the blue of her eyes, and the faintly shadowed dimple in the smile she turned up to him all added up into a memory that had finally clicked into place. "Lady...Celsie?"

The smile grew. "Yes." She held out her hand. Derry bowed over it, planting a kiss on the fingertips out of sheer reflex, for once again he'd momentarily forgotten how to think. Finally, he managed to get words out again. "I thought you were in Andelon?"

Celsie laughed. "Well, I _was_! But I'm back now. My home _is_ here, you know."

#

Derry, upon learning that the Lady Celsie intended to pay a visit to Coroth Castle before returning to her own lands, offered to escort her there, as he was heading back there himself. Celsie made arrangements with her groom and several stable lads from her manor to convey the new stallion back to Chervignon, then had one fetch her own mount, a beautiful pale gray mare Derry immediately recognized.

"That's the one I found for you just before you set forth for the Court at Andelon, is she not?" Derry asked.

"Yes, this is Aelfscine." She smiled her thanks as Derry gave her a leg up into the saddle. "And she's served me quite well. Thank you for acquiring her for me. I've added a couple more to my stables since then, but Aelfscine is still my favorite."

"The name means 'elf-shine' or 'elfin beauty,' does it not, and in the Old Tongue?"

"It does." Her blue eyes teased him gently from her perch above. "I see you're educated as well as decorative."

Derry laughed as he took his own horse's reins back from a waiting groom and mounted. "Why do I get the feeling you hear that a lot more often than I do?"

"Because you'd be right. Men—even many who _ought_ to know better—often don't seem to expect a woman to know much beyond how to manage their own demesne, and seem surprised when we _do_ enjoy learning for learning's sake." She rolled her eyes. "And those who do see women as capable of intelligent thought sometimes don't get much beyond considering that as an asset in breeding bright sons." Celsie grinned. "The statement sounds rather odd when made to a man, though, doesn't it?"

Derry smiled. "Indeed." The two rode side by side up the road towards Coroth Castle. "So, what have you named that awe-inspiring stallion?"

Celsie's grin grew as she flashed a look of pure mischief at Derry. "Oh, that one's called Seandry."

Derry gave a surprised laugh. "'Seandry'?! Why?"

Celestial blue eyes assessed him with an amused gleam in their depths. "Why? Hm…." She turned her gaze forward, pretending to ponder the question, or possibly how to answer it. "Let's just say….Stanzi and I might have celebrated a little _too_ freely after I made that purchase. Vézairi port is lovely stuff, but oh, what it does to one's head the morning after!" Celsie laughed.

"You and Constanza _both_ named him?" Derry colored slightly, deciding it was probably best not to ask for their specific reasonings. They rode on for a short while in silence, then Derry asked, "How _is_ the Contessa?"

"She does well." Celsie tilted her head at him, as if trying to decide whether to add more. At last, she offered, "She had another offer of marriage last month, but the last I heard, she was still considering it. He would be an excellent match for her, if she chooses to accept him, but she's still undecided."

He nodded, studying the cobbles ahead. "I wish her every happiness," he said quietly, "whatever she chooses."

"So do I. The man loves her, but…she's still not sure." She spared him another look. "And I'm not sure if it helps his suit or not that he looks a little bit like you. But there's at least one point in his favor."

"What's that?"

She sighed. "He's not only able to offer her marriage, he's quite eager to. That may bring her around in time, if nothing else does. Stanzi may like to think of herself as self-sufficient, but deep down, I think she's been quite lonely these past few years."

They came around a bend in the road, and the Coroth Castle gatehouse came into sight. Celsie beamed. "Oh, how I look forward to seeing the Duke and Duchess again! I imagine the children have grown quite a bit! Little Kelric would be toddling now, wouldn't he?"

Derry laughed. "Running, actually. _Every_where. He's just turned four."

"Four? That hardly seems possible! Then Briony would be getting to be quite the little lady, which means Brendan…. Oh my, he's nearly to manhood now, isn't he?"

The Earl shrugged. "Well, he still has a few more years before _that,_ but yes, he's eleven now. And he's had to act in a man's capacity already, at least once," he added, telling Celsie of young Brendan's role in helping to avert the assassination attempt on the Kings of Gwynedd and Torenth the previous summer.

"Thanks be to God for _that!_ Of course, with Alaric Morgan's example to follow, it's little wonder the lad's growing up to be quite the hero." Celsie smiled. "His Grace casts a long shadow, but I'm sure Brendan and Kelric will both live up to his legacy in time."

"I'm glad _you_, at least, don't see the Marley 'taint' when you look at Brendan, though fortunately for him his actions last summer helped to set a lot of other people's minds at ease in that regard," Derry noted.

"Oh, goodness no, why would I?" Celsie said, looking genuinely baffled. "Bran Coris may have sired him, but Brendan can hardly be held culpable for the man's actions, and Alaric Morgan has been _far_ more of a true father to him, having had much more of a hand in the raising of the lad by now." She slanted a look at Derry and a gentle smile. "So, when are _you _going to be siring little lads and lasses of your own, 'Uncle Seandry'?"

He gave her a rueful grin in return. "Everyone and my mother asks me that question."

"_Do_ they? And _especially_ your mother?" She laughed. "I imagine they do."

Derry surreptitiously scanned Celsie's fingers for signs of a ring. "And what about you? Have you married yet, or are you betrothed?"

She shrugged slender shoulders. "Neither. No time, really; I've been concentrating more on my training, and then this past year on learning my responsibilities towards Chervignon. Master Derwin's worked quite diligently on my behalf, but it's hardly fair to him for me to expect him to take over my duties completely. I've had several offers. Some have been…decent enough fellows, I suppose. Others…." She laughed, a soft rippling sound. "I think I'd rather slam my fingers in a door. Repeatedly. Less pain involved." Celsie grinned at Derry. "Promise me, Sean, that if you ever work up to proposing to a woman, you won't do so by first trying to ply her with wine, then telling her that you hope to fill her belly with babes every year of her fertile life! I love children, but sweet Jesú I hope that's not my _only_ purpose for existence!"

Derry burst into laughter. "No, I can't imagine that's a very appealing proposition from a woman's point of view!"

"Indeed not!" Celsie slanted a sidelong look at him. "_Getting_ the babes might be a pleasant enough occupation, but giving birth to them is rather more difficult work, I should think. And he never _once_ offered to bear half of them himself, either." She smiled. "I imagine he'd have been a lot less enthusiastic about a full household, if _that_ were possible."

Derry chuckled. "Quite likely." He reined his horse in at the castle stables, dismounting and handing his horse's reins over to a stable lad, then helped Celsie down from Aelfscine. She rested in the circle of his arms for the briefest of moments, all soft yielding curves which unexpectedly set his heart to racing, but then she broke from him with a delighted cry as her eyes fell upon the children playing nearby and the woman with red-gold hair sitting close to them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"Oh my, how your children have all grown!" Celsie laughed up at Richenda from her vantage point on the grassy ground, little Kelric in her lap. She looked back down at him as his little hand played with one of her curls, tugging experimentally at one long lock and then watching it spring back into place as he released it, then glanced over at his big sister. "Briony, you were even younger than this little man is now, the last time I saw you all. Kelric wasn't even walking yet when I left Rhemuth, was he, Your Grace?"

"Well, he's certainly all over the place now!" Richenda said with a smile. "This is the longest I've seen him sit still in quite a while." She lifted her youngest child—a baby girl who looked to be no more than a month old—to her shoulder to pat her back gently.

Celsie admired the red-gold fuzz on the infant's head. "What's her name?" she asked Richenda.

"This is Grania," the Duchess informed her. "Grania Marie Araxelle."

"So you have two boys and two girls now—a nice balance. And that reminds me; I've a couple of items for you and His Grace in my saddlebag, but I'll give them to you later. Maybe once the children are abed." Celsie's eyes drifted to Brendan, who stood to one side smiling at her a little shyly. "I heard _you_ had quite the adventure on your trip to Torenth last summer, young Marley," Celsie said admiringly, "and that you gave the Duke good cause to be glad he brought you along."

Brendan blushed at the attention. "I was just in the right place at the right time, my Lady," he protested.

"_And _you did the right thing," Celsie added, "which is far better than being in the right place at the right time and doing the _wrong_ thing, or nothing at all."

He ducked his head, suppressing a grin. "I just did what needed doing, that's all."

"You're what, eleven now?"

"Yes, my Lady. Almost twelve."

"Ah." Celsie smiled teasingly up at Richenda. "He _might_ be safe for another couple of years then, before you have to worry about fending off the hordes of hopeful ladies-in-waiting eager to catch a handsome and brave young Earl's eye every time you visit Rhemuth."

"Heaven forfend!" Richenda said with a laugh and an affectionate smile at her firstborn. "I'm not ready for that yet."

#

"I think you've made a conquest," Derry joked in a low whisper as he and Celsie followed Duchess Richenda into the Great Hall later, "if the look of tongue-tied adoration on Brendan's face is anything to go by."

"He's a sweet boy," she said with a smile. "and far less awkward than _I _was at that age." A faint shadow crossed her features briefly, quickly dispelled as she spied the Duke of Corwyn. He spotted her at the same time, crossing the Hall quickly with his long stride.

"Welcome back to Coroth," the Duke said with a broad grin at his ward as he bowed over her hand before greeting his wife with an affectionate embrace, taking the sleeping baby from her to give her the chance to rest from carrying the infant. "I've heard rumors about a certain stallion you've acquired, Lady Celsie. My grooms are jealous."

Celsie laughed. "If you'd prefer a foal next year in place of my usual land tithe..."

Morgan smiled. "I think I'd like to see this fabled beast before I make any commitments of that sort."

"_I've_ seen the fabled beast," Derry told him. "If the foals are like the sire, I'd take her up on that offer. I have no idea how you talked the seller down to the price you did, Celsie. I know he cost a princely sum anyway, but the breeder could easily have gotten another two-hundred for a stallion of that quality."

"And I'd likely have _paid _the extra two-hundred, and gladly, had I known the cost of the bargain would be having to deal with an additional six hours of impassioned wooing," Celsie admitted, her dimpled smile flashing. "I _told _you I was half afraid I'd have to offer up my firstborn child!"

They laughed. Richenda turned to her husband. "I was about to show Celsie up to her room so she can get settled in. Shall I take Grania up to the nursery on the way?"

"Oh, I'll bring her up. I've hardly seen the little rosebud all day." He gazed fondly down at the sleeping infant's tiny features, cast from her mother's mold.

#

Celsie found her baggage awaiting her when she entered the bedchamber that had been readied for her arrival.

"I'll leave you for now, in case you'd like a little time to rest or freshen up before the evening meal," Richenda told her.

"Oh, wait!" Celsie said. She opened up one of the bags, pulling out a couple of linen-wrapped packages. "I made these for you and His Grace in Andelon. I had to make a few projects to show my mastery of the spellwork I've learned." She handed the packages to the Duchess. "I hope you like them, and that they'll prove to be useful."

"Why, thank you, Celsie!" Richenda took the packages with a smile. "Should I wait until later to open mine, or should I open it now?"

"Oh, now, so I can explain what it is, though you might be able to tell that for yourself based on the feel of the working." Celsie blushed slightly as Richenda began to unwrap the first package. "I made this on the assumption that you and His Grace are hoping for more children in future, but if not, I can make a night-rail with a different working in it."

Richenda finished untying the ribbons around the linen-wrapped parcel and unfolded the wrapping. The night-rail in question was of a good quality white linen, soft yet fairly durable, embroidered at yoke and hem with simple white flowers. It was the spellwork, Richenda realized as she ran her fingers over it, which made the garment noteworthy.

"As night-rails go, it's not especially alluring, but it's meant for your lying-in," Celsie explained, confirming Richenda's guess. "It's meant to provide easy childbirths and general protections against harm. I made it all white so it can easily be laundered and bleached between uses."

"It's quite lovely, and very much appreciated," Richenda told her, setting the garment down to gather Celsie in a quick hug. "And yes, we _are_ hoping for more. A few more, anyway." She leaned back to look into Celsie's eyes. "You know, dear, you're welcome to call us Alaric and Richenda in private."

Celsie smiled. "Thank you. I didn't wish to presume." She picked up the second package and untied the ribbon around it to show off its contents. "Alaric's present is an undertunic with protective spells embroidered throughout. I was originally considering making a gambeson for under his armor, but then I realized not all attacks and other dangers occur in battle where one might reasonably expect them. I only had time to make one, but I can make him a spare later, in case he'd like to have an extra available to wear while the first is being laundered."

"Oh, he'll love that! It looks like your time in Andelon was well spent. And truly, it wasn't nearly as terrifying as you were expecting, now was it?"

Celsie gave a reminiscent chuckle. "I was quite lonely for Rhemuth at first, but I eventually settled in. Andelon definitely has its charms, but all the same, I'm glad I'm finally home for good now." She smiled. "I enjoy Court life to some degree, but at Chervignon I feel useful. I'm not just a decorative asset with a talent for magical stitchery, sitting in wait for a man to show up and give my life meaning." She sighed.

"Well, I hardly think you're viewed as _just _that, even in the Court of Andelon," Richenda observed. "Though it sounds like you've grown tired of fending off suitors."

A soft laugh. "Does it show?" Celsie sighed. "It's not that I don't want a husband and children—I very much _do_. It's just...I don't want just _any _husband either. And I'd like to think I have some value of my own as well, wholly apart from one, and apart from my presumed ability to breed."

Richenda nodded. "Oh, I understand, truly I do. Hopefully you'll find a husband who will value you for yourself, and not simply as an accessory. I've been most blessed in Alaric in that regard." She tilted her head at the younger woman thoughtfully. "Are you still interested in Sean?"

Celsie grinned. "I was quite besotted with him in my younger years, wasn't I? Was it obvious?"

Richenda laughed. "Blindingly."

The grin subsided to a faint smile. "Yes, I'm still quite taken with him. But please don't tell him so. I've no wish to see him shy away from me. I assume he's still commitment shy?"

"Well...yes. Though I suspect at this point, it's more that he just hasn't found the right woman he'd feel comfortable settling down with, rather than the complete lack of willingness to settle he might have felt in his younger years." The Duchess sighed. "I know he quite wants children of his own, though, and he _does_ need an heir for Derry."

"He just doesn't want to risk being tied down to the same woman and hopelessly bored for the rest of his natural?" Celsie observed, only half in jest.

"Pretty much," Richenda agreed. "Which simply means, of course, that the woman who hopes to catch him should do her utmost not to be boring." The Duchess winked. Celsie burst into laughter.

"Maybe he should have married my heart-sister Ailidh. I think Sir Jass is probably praying for boredom at this point."

Richenda chuckled. "I don't think Sean is looking to be worried into an early grave either."

#

Celsie and Derry enjoyed a private dinner that evening with the Morgan household.

"So, tell us about your time in Andelon," Alaric said. "I know the Contessa was especially hopeful of fostering your aptitude in cording lore, but did you learn anything else of interest there?"

"Oh, gracious yes!" the demoiselle averred. "Or at least I learned _about_ much more, which isn't quite the same thing, of course. I do wish I had enough aptitude with music to try my hand at bardic magics, for instance. I can sing, but I'm not very proficient with any instrument, and bardic magic requires chords and harmonies as complex as some of the more specialized stitches and knotwork used in cording lore. Having heard a Deryni bard perform, though, I can assure you there's a world of difference between a ballad played and sung with Deryni magical enhancement than one performed without it."

"That sounds interesting. How would you describe the difference?" Alaric asked.

"Well, it would be far easier for me just to _show_ you," Celsie said, "although..." She glanced at Derry. "Sean, are you still magic-averse? I could just try describing it in words, if you are."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "I didn't realize you knew, but as it happens, no. At least, not nearly so much as I once was." He shrugged. "I'm not sure why, but ever since we returned from our little jaunt into Torenth last year, I've had less of a problem with it. Perhaps just having more exposure to seeing it used in completely benign ways helped, the assassination attempt on King Liam-Lajos notwithstanding."

Alaric and Richenda exchanged a quick look, unseen by Derry. Celsie suspected they knew more about the matter than they were letting on in front of Alaric's lieutenant, but she was hardly going to pry, especially not in the presence of the man in question.

"So you won't mind me showing you, then? Good." The demoiselle smiled, conjuring up a memory of a Deryni troubadour in Sofiana's Court. The man plucked at an archlute, his fingers forming a series of complex chords as he sang a melody that was familiar to everyone in the room, yet somehow the song his mind and deep voice wove into the instrumental music conjured up far more than the ballad had ever evoked in previous listenings. As the man sang the story of a long-ago battle, Alaric could swear he heard the familiar sounds of destriers' hooves pounding the earth, the clash of swords against shields and steel, the whinnies of dying horses and cries of injured men, and in the distance, a trumpeter's call. Accompanying the sounds of war were flashes of vision—boldly colored caparisons, battle pennants waving in the wind, the tents of an encampment visible in the distance beyond the field of battle itself, slick with gore, though the field of vision soon narrowed, centering itself upon the bold if doomed exploits of the ancient King who was the hero of the tale.

Richenda and Derry also experienced similar visions, although once the song had ended and Celsie withdrew from the shared link, each listener realized afterwards that what he or she had experienced in the music was subtly different.

"That is...simply amazing," Derry said afterwards, "and perhaps a bit _too_ real in some regards. I think if I were in a Court with a Deryni bard, I'd ask to hear some love songs instead."

Celsie laughed. "Well, he performed some of those as well, but I'm certainly not going to share _those_ memories!" She blushed slightly. "Let's just say it's a good thing _you're_ not a Deryni bard. No lady would be immune! The King would need to keep you locked away in a high tower for Gwynedd's protection."

Derry grinned, raising a brow at Morgan. "You don't happen to have any lands in Andelon you need me to manage, do you, Alaric?"

The Duke laughed. "Sadly for you, no."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Richenda extended an invitation to Celsie to remain in Coroth another day, but the demoiselle declined, saying she was eager to return home and see how the new stallion had settled in and how the household had fared in her absence. The Duke, after hearing of Celsie's plans, asked Derry to accompany her back to Chervignon to ensure her safe return.

"Would you mind if I borrow your lieutenant for a day or two?" Celsie asked her guardian, much to Derry's surprise. "That is, if you're willing to stay a short while, Sean," she added, turning to look up at him. "There've been quite a few changes since you were last there. Master Derwin will be there, of course, as well as the rest of my household staff. As you were so instrumental in helping me find and hire most of my present household, I thought you might enjoy seeing the miracles they've wrought in the years since then."

"i suppose I could spare him for that long," said Alaric with a smile.

They set out in the early afternoon, once the full heat of midday had subsided to cooler breezes. There would still be ample time for a leisurely ride to Chervignon, which Celsie and Derry anticipated reaching well before sunset. The trip could be made much shorter, of course, if they wished to ride at a less sedate pace—Celsie had once made the journey in just over an hour, although she'd been riding for her life at the time-but neither was in a particular rush on that lovely May afternoon as the gentle warmth of springtime was only just beginning to ease into the fiercer heat of summer.

#

Ominous gray clouds on the horizon were the first indicators that Celsie's return home might not pass as swiftly as originally anticipated. Derry reined in his horse to study the clouds ahead, noting the flashes of lightning and the diagonal fall of rain in the distance, and the direction of the winds that were, even as he watched, beginning to pick up, tossing the nearby treetops. The scents of ozone and damp earth filled his nostrils.

"That's going to be upon us pretty soon. Do you think we can make it to Chervignon before then, if we hurry?"

Celsie shook her head slowly. "I truly doubt it. We'll be riding straight into it. But I suppose it's a bit late for us to turn back. We're going to be caught in it either way."

Derry frowned thoughtfully. A low wall off to one side of the road caught his eye, giving him a idea. "There's a sheep pasture just up ahead, as I recall, just beyond the next bend in the road, where it turns at the stream. Just beyond that is an old shepherd's croft. Perhaps he'd be willing to offer us shelter until the storm passes. I've had to seek such shelter before; it's generally granted gladly in exchange for fresh news out of Coroth." He gave Celsie a reassuring smile.

"All right. Let's make a run for it, then; I'll follow you."

They took off at a gallop, crossing most of the distance before the leading edge of the rapidly approaching thunderclouds overtook them. As they rounded the bend, rain began to fall, pelting them with large drops. Derry raised his voice to make himself heard above the rainfall and the rising wind.

"Look—see the stone building just ahead?" He pointed up the road and slightly off to the right. Celsie could dimly see the darker shape in the storm's gathering gloom. A nearby flash of lightning brightened the sky suddenly, nearly spooking her horse, but setting the croft off in sharp relief against the cloud-darkened sky just as the bottom seemed to fall out of the sky above. Rain cascaded down upon them in sheets.

"Yes!" she shouted, already following Derry as their mounts broke into a gallop for the shelter.

They reached the croft a scant minute later, Celsie not waiting for assistance before sliding off Aelfscine's back. Derry had arrived just ahead of her, and was leading his horse by the reins, standing at the door of the humble croft.

"Is the shepherd in?" Celsie asked, raising her voice to be heard over a clap of thunder. She saw no sign of candle or lamp light coming from within the tiny building.

Derry turned to her, a slight frown on his handsome features. "No. It appears he's moved on. I forgot, lambing season would be over by now." He took Aelfscine's reins. "I'll take care of the horses; you get inside. Maybe this storm will blow through soon."

Derry took their mounts to the crude stable behind the croft. Celsie entered the small building, creating celestial blue handfire to dispel the gloom within. The light illuminated a small hearth and a supply of firewood on one side of the fireplace. She knelt, adding some dry tinder and kindling to the small logs already in the fireplace, then used her powers to ignite the kindling, tending the tiny flame until it spread, creating a cheery warmth and glow.

That task accomplished, she turned to survey the rest of the hut's contents. There was little in the sparse, one-room croft save for a small bed in one corner and a wooden bench against the opposite wall, but once Celsie turned her powers to unlocking the small chest in the corner of the room, she discovered a stash of dry blankets within. Further perusal of the room revealed other items that could prove useful.

Derry returned after a short while, carrying the saddlebags with him. He closed the croft door behind him, barring it as the howling wind threatened to blow it open again, then set the dripping bags to the floor before looking up. Celsie stood before the hearth, her wet garments, aside from a damp chemise, set to one side as she unrolled a length of sturdy rope she had discovered.

"The horses are secure, then?" she asked as she handed him one end of the rope.

Derry nodded, suddenly dry-mouthed as Celsie turned, affording him a view of lush curves silhouetted through the slightly moist white cambric of her undergarment. She appeared to be blissfully unconscious of the effect—one which Derry certainly wasn't minded to share with her!—as she took the other end of the rope and clambered onto the bed, stretching up on tiptoe to tie it to an iron hook she'd discovered affixed to the wall just beneath the low rafters. "There's another hook a bit lower on the other side of the room, if you want to secure the other end, Sean."

"All right," he said, forcing his eyes away from her and crossing the small space to do so. "What's this for?"

"Drying out our clothing, of course," she answered. "Unless you want to stuff wet clothes into our bags once we leave here, or worse yet, wear them?" She spared him a quick glance over her shoulder. "You need to get out of those wet things; you'll catch your death if you don't. There are blankets in that chest by the corner."

Derry swallowed uncomfortably. "I brought in our bags. They're soaking wet on the outside, of course, but hopefully the leather kept the contents mostly dry."

"Oh, did you? You dear man! Yes, that will help." Celsie turned to beam at him. Derry turned away swiftly, rummaging through his own bag to search for...anything. He didn't care what. Just something to keep his eyes off Alaric's perilously fair ward.

What he found was a small wrapped bundle of food Richenda had packed for their trip—just a small travelers' meal of bread, soft cheese, and ripe berries, but it would stave off hunger until they could arrive at Chervignon later that evening. Or, he amended the thought as another flash of lightning illuminated the edge of the closed shutters, almost immediately followed by loud thunder, perhaps the following morning. His eyes flicked to the small bed with something akin to despair. Sweet Jesú, hopefully not _that _long!

Celsie stepped down lightly, reaching for her sodden clothing and wringing most of the excess water out into a basin before hanging it upon the makeshift clothesline. "There! That should help speed things up. Are you decent yet?"

"Decent?" Derry asked, sounding bemused.

She risked a peek, then straightened, tilting her head up at him, hands on hips. "Sean Derry, you are _soaked_! Get out of those clothes at once; sweet Jesú, this is _no_ time to go shy on me!" She tossed a dry blanket at him. "Here!" She turned her back to him again, crouching by the hearth and moving some of the wood with an iron poker to allow for a steadier burn.

The fire was certainly not the only thing burning in that small room. Derry's face flamed as he reluctantly did as he'd been bidden. He was certainly no stranger to disrobing in the presence of a woman, but this was...different. Celsie, for all that the three years since he'd last seen her had added to both her worldly knowledge and her life experience, not to mention her already copious physical attractions, was still an innocent. _Alaric's_ innocent. Derry chanted those words to himself in his mind almost like a mantra as he stripped off his wet outer garments. Thankfully the innermost layer was only slightly damp. He wrapped the blanket tightly around himself as he rummaged through his bag, looking for a dry change of clothing.

Celsie peeked shyly over her shoulder again just as he'd finished donning a dry pair of trousers and was poking through the bag for a dry shirt. "Could you toss my bag to me?" she asked. Derry grabbed it, thrusting it at her without looking. She took it from him, beginning to sift through the contents.

"Oh, thank goodness!" She pulled out a swath of fabric and glanced at him again before retreating behind the soggy curtain created by the clothing drying in front of the fire. He pointedly turned his back to allow her more privacy.

"Are you hungry? Richenda packed a light snack," he told her a minute or two later.

"Oh?" Her voice approached to study the packet of food he'd placed on the bed in lieu of a table. "Wonderful! I'd wondered what we'd do about a supper tonight."

"Hopefully we won't be stranded here too much longer," Derry said, risking a look up. Celsie was in dry clothing now, which helped, although the clothing she'd found was nothing more than a thin undergown of celestial blue which hugged her slender curves. It was, at least, a lesser torment than the damp chemise.

"I need lacing up, please," she said as she reached for a piece of bread and began to spread some soft cheese on it with her knife, adding a few berries on top afterwards. Derry complied, turning his eyes away from the satiny skin beneath the back opening of the gown as he tugged the lacing tight and secured it in a bow. Celsie prepared a second slice of bread as she had the first and then popped a morsel of it into Derry's mouth as he finished the task. "Thank you."

"Mm." Derry chewed on the offering, wondering how they were going to fill in the next few...minutes? Hours? Outside, the storm continued to howl, the occasional cold blast of wind creeping through a chink in the wall until both were forced to retreat towards the warm glow of the hearth to finish their light meal.

#

The storm showed no signs of letting up. Celsie attempted to lighten the mood by regaling Derry with a few tales of her adventures and misadventures in Andelon. Although he smiled and laughed in all the right places, though, she could tell he seemed preoccupied.

At last, stifling a yawn, she said, "I think we're just going to have to face the inevitable, Sean. Maybe we can catch a few hours of sleep and then ride out once the rain is gone and it's light enough outside to see the road clearly. That would probably be safer than trying to push on after dark, even if the rain subsides sooner."

He sighed. "You're right." Derry stood, poking at the fire and adding another couple of logs and a bit more fresh tinder. "Why don't you go on to bed, and I'll fix up a pallet here and keep an eye on the fire."

"Using what? Wet clothing? Don't be silly, Sean." She slid under the thin blankets. "I trust you."

_That's more than I can say for myself at the moment_, Derry thought.

"Look, there's two blankets here; if you only need one over you, we'll be quite perfectly separated." Celsie sighed. "It's not as if you've not shared a mattress with a woman before, Sean. Just...um...pretend I'm not _me!_"

Somehow, that didn't help very much. He imagined the return to Coroth in a few days. _Greetings, Alaric, your ward is settled safely back in at Chervignon. No, no mishaps along the way, aside from the night we spent together in the same bed in an abandoned croft. But nothing happened, really! I truly _am_ capable of spending an entire night of chastity curled up beside an armful of warm, yielding, breathtakingly lovely woman..._

Alaric knew him far too well. In Alaric's place, he wouldn't believe him either.

#

The cold stone floor was damn hard. In the end, Derry bowed to the inevitable.

He crawled under the top blanket, slowly turning to one side so that his back faced the demoiselle. Curled away from Celsie, her close proximity was almost bearable, though a few minutes later, she turned in her sleep, snuggling up behind him like a puppy in search of a mother's warmth. He held his breath as she nestled against him, one arm drifting over his side to encircle his waist, her soft warm breaths tickling the back of his neck.

_There is indeed a God_, Derry mused, _and this is my penance for all my years of sin._

#

It was the sunlight streaming through small chinks in the wall and shutters the next morning that awakened Derry. Celsie was already out of bed, bustling around the small room, taking down dry clothing. Her overgown, she tossed over the undergown she already had on; the chemise was neatly folded and replaced in her saddlebag. His clothing, she took down from the line and then handed to him once she realized he was awake.

"Did you rest well?" Celsie asked cheerily.

_It was better than a night in the dungeons of Esgair Ddu...marginally. _"Well enough."

Derry stretched and eased himself out of bed, then smoothed out the blankets. Something fell to the floor with a slight clatter. He glanced down towards his feet to see what it was, stooping to pick up the beaded necklace. No, on second glance, it was a rosary.

He looked back up to see Celsie turn away with a blush.

"Protection from the rapacious Earl?" Derry joked. He could feel a sense of humor starting to return, now that dawn was here and the skies were cloud free. It would be a short-lived sense of well-being, he knew, for eventually he'd have to return to Coroth and face Alaric, but for the moment the danger had passed.

Celsie glanced up at him shyly, recovering the prayer beads from his grasp. "I...woke up in the middle of the night." She bit her lip, turning away to put the rosary back in her bag. "I'm not used to waking up with a man in my bed, Sean," she said in a voice so quiet he had to strain to hear her. "I...needed a little reminder that God hadn't provided this shelter for us just so I could take advantage of it to seduce you."

She picked up her bag and headed out to the stable, leaving her disconcerted traveling companion staring after her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

The morning promised to be as fair as the previous evening had been foul. Celsie and Derry took to the road again, traveling beside what had been a small stream the previous afternoon. The rains of the day before had swollen it, the floodwaters nearly causing the rushing river to overflow its banks.

As they neared the boundaries of Celsie's lands, close by the small village which lay just outside Chervignon's borders, Celsie spied a man standing by the water's edge, holding a small, squirming sack he was preparing to fling into the rolling water. She reined in Aelfscine, dismounting quickly and handing the reins to a startled Earl Derry. "Hold, goodman!" she called out, catching the old man by surprise. He paused in his act, lowering the bag, although he made sure to hold it a cautious distance from his leg. The bag continued to squirm, sharp claws and teeth occasionally poking through the rough burlap.

"'Ow c'n I be o' service, m'Lady?" the man mumbled.

"Is that perchance a cat in your bag?" Celsie ventured, pointing at the sack he held.

"Aye, m'Lady. I caught 'im at me chickens again."

"I see." Celsie took another step forward. "As it happens, I have need of a cat for my barn. Might I have him instead?" She turned her most winsome smile upon the old man.

"Nay, m'Lady, ye'd no' want _this_ cat. 'E's a feral un, 'e is. 'E's as like ta bite an' scratch ye as look at ye. Best jes' ta drown 'im an' be done wi' it." He started to lift the bag again.

"Oh, gracious, _please_ don't toss him in! if you do that, I'll just have to go in after him, and I should hate to get wet again. And I should hate even more the stern tongue-lashing the Earl of Derry here is likely to give me for going swimming in my riding clothes." Celsie beamed at the man. "I've a way with animals, though. Let me at least see if I can calm him."

The peasant stared at the lady as though she'd grown an extra head, but he slowly lowered the bundle to the ground, no doubt not wanting the fault to fall upon his head if the Lady were indeed so reckless as to throw herself into the roiling stream after it. He shot a wary look at Derry, then back at the woman. "If 'e bites or claws ye, m'Lady, don't say ye wasn't warned."

"I shan't." Celsie slowly approached the tumbling bundle of burlap and irate cat, dropping to her knees just out of reach of the claws attempting to shred the confining fabric from within. "Shhhhh….Calm yourself, sweet kitty…." The old man let out a snort as the Lady of Chervignon crooned words of comfort, but as the cat began to quiet down, his openly skeptical look turned to bemused wonder. At last, Celsie reached out a fingertip and touched a lump in the bag she judged to be the cat's head. The form within relaxed completely.

"Ye be some sort o' cat charmer?" the man muttered, looking at Celsie in bewilderment.

"Something of the sort, I suppose," she affirmed. "My mother had a way with animals as well." She looked up at him. "He's not a bad kitty; he's just terrified. I'll take him on with me. That should keep him out of your chickens just as well as drowning him would, don't you think?"

The man shrugged. "Don' make no never mind to me, I don' s'pose, if 'e's dead or not, so long as 'e ain't in me 'enhouse." He bobbed a crude bow in her direction and the Earl's and took his leave.

Once he'd retreated a safe distance, Celsie untied the mouth of the sack to see what it contained. Derry approached a bit closer, curious. A ginger tabby lay within, half grown and half starved, with one torn ear and a rakish scar across its forehead narrowly missing one eye. The demoiselle surveyed her new acquisition with a careful eye.

"You're a bit beat up, but you'll mend quickly enough." A flicker of movement in the bright fur caught her eye, and she chuckled. "Let's not bring fleas home, though." She passed a graceful hand a few inches above the cat, and a small flurry of dark specks leaped clear, bounding away from Celsie into the roadside grass and clover. Derry gave a startled laugh.

"_That's_ a handy trick!"

She grinned up at him. "Isn't it?" Turning back to the cat, she peeked into its ears and mouth. "Gums are pink and healthy, ears could use a cleaning—you've probably got mites, poor thing—but I've just the stuff to fix that." She picked up the sleeping cat. "He should stay asleep until we're back home," she told Derry, offering the limp form to him. "Would you hand him up to me once I'm back in the saddle?"

"If he's as feral as the man claims, is that a good idea, Celsie? What if he _does_ wake up?"

"Oh, he won't. I've set controls in his mind, and he'll stay fast asleep until we're home. After that, we'll see how he does." She looked at Derry a trifle wistfully. "I'd really prefer to win him around naturally if I can. I _could_ set controls in his mind to tame him that way, but it's not real love if it's coerced."

"I suppose not," Derry agreed, looking thoughtful. "Though he's just a cat; would it really matter?"

She smiled gently. "It would to _me_. Besides, it's an ethical boundary I'd not really want to get into the habit of crossing lightly, even with an animal. After all, there _are _Deryni out there who would think nothing of saying 'He's just a simple human; would it really matter?'" She stroked the tomcat's head softly. "I know there's a vast difference between a cat's mind and a human being's, but I'd like to treat even a cat with respect."

"I suppose I can't argue with that," Derry said with a faint smile, "especially having encountered Deryni of far less scrupulous conscience." He took the furry burden from her. "Who are you naming this ragged bit of fluff for, then? Not me again, I hope?"

She laughed. "I'll have to think upon it. I don't suppose I could get away with naming it Alaric?"

The Earl laughed as he gave her a leg back up into her saddle.

#

The two travelers continued up the road until they reached the fork leading to Celsie's manor. They veered off, soon rounding a low hill to see Chervignon in the distance. Laborers working in the fields bowed to their Lady and her companion as she passed with a bright smile and a wave. One man ran ahead to alert the steward of their arrival.

The riders approached the Chervignon stables. The groom and a stable lad came out to greet the new arrivals. Celsie listened as her groom gave her a quiet welcome and then brought her up to date on how her new stallion had fared on the trip to its new home. She nodded, thanking him, and handed Aelfscine over into his care. The cat, she entrusted to the boy.

Derry watched as the dusky-skinned lad, who looked no older than Brendan but whose dark brown eyes spoke of far harsher life experiences than Alaric Morgan's stepson had ever known, listened intently to the Lady of Chervignon's instructions as he took the cat from her. She rested a gentle hand on the cat's brow briefly; it stirred slightly but did not awaken. The lad turned to take the sleeping cat away. Derry was startled to see faint scars on the boy's neck and upper back where the neckline of the loose tunic he wore dipped low.

"He's new to your household since last time I was here, I believe," Derry whispered to Celsie once the boy had retreated a short way. He handed his horse over to another groom who had come out for it.

The Lady waited until the groom had retreated before answering. "Yes, that's Hassan. I found him—or rather, he found me—in the souks at Andelon. He was a street urchin. We met when he tried to cut my purse-strings." At Derry's upraised brow, she added. "He belonged to a stern master who would beat him severely if he didn't return at the end of each day with sufficient coin."

"Ah." Derry's blue eyes studied Celsie's face as he thought back to her own abused past. Parts of a puzzle were beginning to fit together. "Another stray, then?"

"Yes." She smiled faintly. "I seem to be accruing a collection. Speaking of which, come see another one that's finally on the mend, though I despaired of its survival at first."

Celsie took him behind the stables. A short distance away was a small yard. An emaciated mule stood there, quietly eating as a stable lad tended to his scarred coat.

"Jesú," Derry breathed. "And where did you acquire that one?"

"His last owner was beating him for falling in the road. He was trying to pull a cart in that condition." Celsie's eyes flashed fire. "_Worse_ than that condition, actually; he's had a couple of weeks now of fattening and mending. He was practically skeletal before." She looked up at Derry a trifle shame-faced. "It's a good thing Master Derwin was with me when we came upon them. I wanted to beat the man with his own whip."

Derry shook his head at the sight before him. "Better Master Derwin than me; _I_ might have let you." He sighed.

She studied him a long moment. "You truly don't mind, then, that I collect them?"

He glanced down at her. "No. Why would I?"

Celsie smiled faintly and shrugged. "There was a man in Andelon who was courting me for a time. But once he learned about my 'strays,' he said I should give up my silly endeavors, as he called them. He told me a Lady shouldn't soil her hands with such matters, and that a gift of alms to others better suited for such work would be more appropriate to a noblewoman's station." She turned her gaze back to the mule. "I decided such a man would never suit me, if he truly believed I could see a person or a creature in need and think I would be content to ease my conscience by simply throwing money at it, or leaving it to be someone else's problem." She took his hands in hers. "But come, Sean. I've other things to show you, much more pleasant than this."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Celsie led Derry back into the stables, smiling at Hassan as he lay bowls of meat scraps and water by the battle-scarred cat, who was beginning at long last to stir slightly in the small storeroom where the lad had sequestered him. "Be wary of him, Hassan, once he awakens. He's apt to be a bit frightened. I've left a few controls in his mind, so he shouldn't attack you, but he might well shy away from you, at least at first. He also won't be able to roam beyond the boundaries of Chervignon for now, though there's no telling where he might turn up otherwise, so if you see him stalking the dovecote or anything like that, let me know. Can't have him eating all the squabs. I trust he'll make a fine mouser, though, once he settles in." She smiled as the young lad grinned up at her in agreement.

The two adults walked past the storeroom then, to another door in the stone wall of the stable. Celsie opened it, closing it behind Derry after he entered. They stood in what appeared to be a small wood-paneled room filled with an assortment of supplies, with steep stairs leading up to an upstairs loft area. Celsie ignored that part of the chamber, though, turning instead to press what appeared to be a knot in the wood paneling of one wall. It slid away to reveal crude stone steps leading down into the ground.

Celsie lit handfire and entered the narrow opening, looking back over her shoulder at Derry. He followed her into the narrow passageway. The door closed softly behind him as they continued down the steps until they stopped at one end of an underground corridor. This in turn led a short distance, ending at another door. The Lady of Chervignon touched a similar stud in this door also, and it slid open to reveal a wine cellar.

"Handy," Derry said as he exited the secret passage. "This is just below the manor, isn't it?"

"Yes," Celsie said. "Hold on a moment; let me alert Derwin that we're down here. He'll have been notified of our arrival, of course, but he's probably expecting us to enter by way of the front door, not from below." Her gaze grew unfocused for a moment as she sent the thought to her steward. Once her eyes fixed back on Derry's face, she noticed him studying her with a faint grin.

"Got him used to a mind-link already, have you?"

"Oh, goodness yes! Didn't want to scare the poor man every time I popped in and out of here from Andelon." Celsie grinned. "I've been traveling back and forth between homes over the past year, you know, to make the transition back easier."

The Earl looked startled. "No, I didn't know! So you've not just recently returned?"

"Well, I've recently returned to stay, yes. But I've been stopping by to check on things for a day or two every few weeks throughout the past year." Celsie pointed out a pattern in what appeared to be newly-laid stone flooring. "The Contessa and some of her associates helped with that by installing a Transfer Portal." She sighed. "I wish Alaric had one at Coroth; that would make travel back and forth so much simpler!"

Derry nodded. "I'm sure he'd like that as well. He's hardly had time to take care of the matter, but now that things are settling down a bit, I'm sure he'll turn to that eventually. It would save a lot of time on trips back and forth to Rhemuth." A thought occurred to him, and he chuckled. "Not to mention he won't want to be outdone for long by a knight's daughter in a simple manor house, when he's not troubled to install one at his Ducal Seat yet."

She laughed. "Would it be rubbing it in if I told him he's welcome to use it anytime he has need for one?"

"Oh, doubtless!"

#

They took the main stairs from the cellars to the ground floor of the manor, although Celsie told Derry there was another secret access which led more directly to the upper level where her study, solar, and bedchambers were.

Master Derwin met them at the head of the stairs, offering his greetings to the Lady of the manor and her guest and informing them that a light repast had been prepared in expectation of their arrival.

"Has a bedchamber been readied for the Earl of Derry yet?" Celsie asked. Derwin assured her that it had, and that his bags had already been brought up to it.

"Excellent! Then once we've broken our fast, would you send one of the chambermaids up to prepare baths, please? Though not Mirrin or Bess; one of the others would be best, I think."

Derwin bowed. "Yes, my Lady. I'll notify the kitchen that you're ready to dine then attend to that directly."

The steward left. Celsie led Derry to a small sitting room just off the main Hall. He walked around the small room, studying the fabric furnishings, mostly of Celsie's own making. An embroidered tapestry of fine Opus Andelonicum work caught his eye, prompting a low whistle from him. "Did you create this?"

The hunting scene before him seemed almost to come to life as he viewed it. Derry could almost see the powerful ripple of equine muscles as the hunters rode through the mist-shrouded landscape. It seemed as though at any moment a slight breeze would cause the leaves overhead to flutter, as though the image had merely captured during a momentary lull.

"It's one of my earlier works, but yes." She shrugged. "I've improved since then, but most of my pieces are commissions, sold as quickly as I complete them."

Derry raised his eyebrows. "A supplemental source of income, then?"

She smiled. "Well, you've seen a few of my strays. Mirrin and Bess are my others. I have to afford them somehow."

Derry took a seat. "I thought their names sounded unfamiliar. And where did you find your new maids?"

Celsie sat opposite him. "Bess was in service at another manor. She was dismissed for immorality when the lady of the house discovered her chambermaid in bed with her lord—not that Bess had been given much choice in the matter. Her family disowned her as well once they discovered the reason for her dismissal. I found her at the village crossroads, begging for scraps and seeking respectable work to feed herself, but no one wanted to hire a laborer who was great with child."

"I see. And Mirrin?"

Celsie's lips tightened. "Mirrin's father sold her to a brothel to pay off a debt. She had escaped, but was about to go back to her old life because degradation was better than starvation. I provided an alternative." She sighed. "And now I suppose you probably see my former suitor's complaints about my work in a different light. I suppose simply shoving alms at them and going about my business rather than taking them into my own home _would_ have been more 'respectable,' in a sense."

Derry gave her a wry smile. "Probably. Though I can certainly understand why you wouldn't want to leave either to find her fortune on the streets, either." He sighed. "You do realize, I hope, that eventually you won't be able to save _all_ the strays you encounter?"

"Oh, I know. Chervignon's coffers are hardly big enough for _that_, even with the added income from my needlework commissions and the extra I'm hoping to gain from selling Seandry's foals. I just hope to make _some _difference in their lives, in whatever ways that I can." She smiled. "It's the least I can do, and I can hardly leave it as someone else's problem, given what you and Alaric and Richenda did for _me_ those years ago."

Their food arrived. Derry and Celsie forgot all talk of incomes and strays for the next little while as they enjoyed the simple meal of roast squab, a vegetable stew, and berries in honeyed cream.

#

Afterwards, Celsie led Derry upstairs, showing him to the room prepared for him. A tub of bath water had been made ready, the water brought up for it now cooled to a temperature that would be comfortable on a late spring afternoon, neither too hot nor too cold. A matronly woman, who smiled at him in recognition as he entered, laid a fresh towel on a chair and set soap and a sponge within easy reach, though to Derry's relief she didn't offer to perform the ablutions herself. Instead, she excused herself, telling him she needed to tend to her Lady now that he was settled in comfortably.

He climbed into the bath, allowing the lukewarm water to relax muscles still slightly tense from the stresses of the night before, the uneasy night in an unfamiliar bed beside Celsie's warm presence, followed by the rest of the ride into Chervignon, though that, at least, had been at a leisurely pace that had not taken any more of a toll on him. The scented soap left for him smelled a good deal better than horse and the wood smoke from the croft's fireplace. Not that he particularly minded the smell of horse himself, but he imagined Celsie wouldn't want to snuggle up to it.

_Now, where had that thought come from? _ Derry frowned slightly to himself as he lathered up. As he sluiced clean water over his soaped form, watching the lather sheet away, he had the sudden image of Celsie's soft hands tracing the same path along his wet skin.

_Think of something else! _Derry blinked away the unbidden vision, ducking his hair briefly under the water and straightening to lather it briefly as well, then dipping his head a second time. This time, he thought he felt a gentle caress along the nape of his neck. He nearly gasped a quick intake of breath with his head still under the bathwater before remembering to sit up, looking frantically about. No one else was in the room.

_Must have been a draft in the air,_ he mused. He stood, rinsing off the last of the remaining suds before stepping out of the tub and reaching for the towel.

A vision flitted through his head of toweling Celsie off, kissing droplets of water off her moist shoulders...

"What the hell is _wrong_ with me today?!" Derry practically flung the towel back down onto a small table, throwing open his bags to pull out a clean change of clothing as he muttered to himself. He sank onto the chair, reaching behind him to pull one of Celsie's embroidered pillows out of the way. His fingertips brushed the silken fabric...

_...like the satiny softness of bare skin under his questing fingertips..._

"Jesú, I'm going mad!" he said aloud, dropping the pillow from suddenly nerveless fingers. He hastened to pull his boots back on, running shaking fingers through his damp curls, and left the bedchamber, heading outside to draw some calming breaths of fresh country air.

#

Whatever had caused the sudden bombardment of wayward thoughts to flit through Derry's mind, he had managed to overcome those urges by the time Celsie re-emerged from her own chamber. Upon being told of his whereabouts, she joined him outside, taking him on a tour of her manor lands so she could see the changes that the household he had mostly hand-picked for her had made to the property, and how well it had prospered in the nearly four years since he'd first come to her aid. Afterwards, they returned to the manor. She brought him upstairs to her study, asking Master Derwin to have an evening meal brought up to them.

Again, Derry's eyes took in the changes made in the chamber since his last visit to Chervignon. His gaze fell on the most prominent of those changes—a large floor loom with the beginnings of a spectacular tapestry woven on it. Only the top third of the design had been completed, but even now he could see that the craftsmanship of this piece far surpassed what he'd seen in Celsie's sitting room below. More than that, he could somehow sense the subtle power of the piece, despite not being Deryni.

He turned a look of question to Celsie.

"That's a commission for Sofiana of Andelon," she told him. "A blessing on her reign and royal House. What you're looking at there is nearly a year of work, and I imagine it will take me another couple of years to complete it. But she's paying me triple the price I've ever made on my other work, so it will be well worth the effort once it's done." She smiled. "I imagine a thousand gold Andelonian sovereigns will keep me in crop seed and horse feed for a while."

Derry, with a bit of effort, managed not to gape at her. "One _thousand_?!"

Celsie smiled ruefully. "And now, I think, you might understand why I'm a bit besieged by suitors in Andelon." She sighed. "I hate it, Sean," she said flatly.

"You do?" Derry studied her uncertainly.

"Yes, I do. Mind, it's flattering to be pursued. But I hate being pursued for all the wrong reasons."

"Ah." He studied the tapestry closely, trying to think of how to respond to that. "So, being courted because you're lovely and exceedingly talented would be the wrong reasons?" he asked carefully.

She smiled. "Well, no, I suppose not, when you put it in such a complimentary way, and if that's not _all_ I have to offer. I'm just tired of being courted because some think I'd be a lucrative trophy and a decorative accessory...oh, not to mention a plaything and a producer of heirs." Celsie shrugged. "You know, the usual."

Derry nodded. "You're hoping for more."

"Yes." Her blue eyes searched his. "I'm hoping for love. Or, at the very least, affection and respect. Someone who values _all_ of me, not just a face, or a form, or my talents and my income, or just my womb and my dowry. Someone who values my companionship and wants to share a life with me, not simply tuck me away in a little corner of his own. Is it _truly_ so much to ask?"

He shook his head. "I suppose not. Men feel the same, you know."

"Do they?"

Derry nodded. "Yes. Well, more or less. We'd like to think we have more to offer than a roof over a woman's head and lands for her children to inherit, and the social status that comes with marrying into a rank and title." He gave her a wry grin. "And, believe it or not, just because we may happen to enjoy the pleasures of the bedchamber, that doesn't mean we want to be viewed as little more than the stud who happens to go along with the estate."

Celsie laughed softly. "Yes. You _do_ understand."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Celsie and Derry polished off their evening meal, a meat pie and spring greens along with some flaky pastries drizzled with rose syrup. As the sun set fully and the day's warmth began to dissipate, Master Derwin and one of the kitchen maids returned, the maid clearing away the used dishes while the steward set a warming fire ablaze in the study's fireplace, moving on from there to do the same for the bedchambers on the same floor. Celsie lit some beeswax tapers as well to give the darkening room some added light.

The steward and kitchen maid left, Celsie's tiring maid remaining upstairs for propriety's sake, although she retreated to Celsie's private chamber to work on some mending, keeping the doors open between that room and the study beyond both to keep an occasional eye on things and to ensure she could hear if her Lady had need of her.

Derry stood briefly to stretch his legs, walking to the window embrasure to gaze out over Celsie's land. Not too far beyond the distant hills lay his own Earldom of Derry.

Celsie came to stand beside him. "How long has it been since you've been home?" she asked, divining his thoughts.

He glanced down at her. "Not so long ago. A couple of months."

"And how long were you there last?"

He shrugged. "A couple of weeks?"

"Oh, Sean! Don't you ever get homesick?"

He smiled slightly. "On occasion. I'm usually too busy to spend much time missing it."

"I suppose." Celsie sounded slightly dubious. "Though haven't you ever wished—?"

She broke off, blushing slightly.

"Have I ever wished what?"

She shook her head, her golden ringlets bobbing gently. "Nothing."

Derry sat in one of the window seats, picking up a lute and beginning to tune it idly. "Have I ever wanted to settle down?" he asked, not looking up at her.

"Well...yes."

He paused to pluck on the strings, testing a few notes. "Occasionally," he said finally, looking up at her. He looked back down at the lute, starting to play an old ballad. Celsie sank onto the seat opposite his, leaning back to watch him play, her lips curving into a smile at the music. Eventually her eyes drifted shut.

"Am I boring you to sleep?" Derry teased.

Celsie chuckled. "No, not that. Just enjoying the music. That was my father's lute. He used to play it in the evenings, and my mother would sing." Her eyes opened. "I was only eight when she died, but I remember her singing."

His lips tilted up at the corners as he continued to play. "_You_ sing. I remember hearing you in Rhemuth."

She laughed softly. 'Yes. Sophie and I would sing, and Ailidh played the vielle."

"Ailidh didn't sing?" He glanced up at her, a smile in his eyes.

"Oh, she _could._ She had a decent enough voice, it's just that if she started singing, she'd forget to play." Celsie giggled at the memory. "Do _you_ sing?"

"On rare occasion." Derry grinned. "I rarely have my hands on a lute anymore, unfortunately, but in my home in Derry there's a bathchamber that happens to have quite good acoustics, oddly enough, so sometimes I'll catch myself singing in the bath."

Celsie burst out laughing. "Oh, I'd love to hear—" She broke off suddenly, her cheeks turning rosy as she fought to stifle her amusement.

Derry's eyes gleamed with mirth as he raised an eyebrow at her. "You'd love to hear me in my bath?"

She folded her hands in her lap and cast her gaze demurely downwards, her lips twitching. "Indeed not, my Lord. That would be very bad for the lute."

"Just as well, I suppose." He shot her a devilish grin. "If _you_ were in my bath, I'm sure I'd forget to play _and_ sing."

"On the lute, anyway," Her smile broke free. "Sean, you incorrigible rapscallion, we're going to scandalize my tiring maid!" She stole a glance towards the open door.

He shook his head. "No, we won't. She nodded off over her mending several minutes ago. Though you might want to wake her; she's likely to wake with an aching neck otherwise."

Derry watched as Celsie stood, walking into the other room to wake her maidservant. The girl blinked sleepily up at her, then set her mending back into her workbasket, moving out of sight. A few moments later, Celsie re-emerged.

"Poor child!" she whispered once she had rejoined him in the window embrasure. "She barely made it to her pallet, and fell fast asleep again." She glanced at him, her eyes reflecting a sudden uncertainty. "Are _you_ tired?"

"Not especially," he answered, plucking absently at the lute, "though if you feel it would be best for us both to retire for the evening…." He stopped as she shook her head.

"No, it's fine." She smiled. "I'm enjoying talking and listening to you play."

He smiled, launching into another ballad to oblige her, this one a haunting love song suitable for a quietly shared moment, singing along after the opening notes, though in a voice soft enough to avoid waking the sleeping maid. Celsie watched his hands as he played, watched the deftness with which he plucked at the taut strings. Her cheeks colored slightly, considering other things those hands were doubtless quite good at, and she dropped her gaze again.

The song ended. Derry watched the firelight flicker across the demoiselle's features a moment longer, then set the lute aside, reaching for her hands to draw her closer, tilting his head towards the empty half of his window seat in a wordless invitation to join him.

Her heart pounding, Celsie stood, moving over to sit beside her guest. He lifted a hand, lightly callused from years of handling swords and reins, to cup her cheek, gazing into her eyes with a very serious expression, all trace of laughter gone. "Celsie, there's a question I've been meaning to ask, but I didn't wish to bring it up with others present."

Celsie's heart nearly stopped. 'Yes?"

Derry's voice went soft, so quiet she almost had to strain to hear him despite his nearness. "What exactly happened, that Twelfth Night in Rhemuth?"

It was certainly not a question she'd expected; definitely not the one she'd longed for! "On Twelfth Night?" she parroted, staring down at her lap in dismay.

"Yes." He reached a fingertip under her chin and tilted her face back up. "I know what I _remember_, but…there are things about that night that haven't been adding up properly, and I'm well aware of how mutable memories can be." He gave her a wry smile. "_Especially_ for a human who keeps close company with Deryni."

Celsie's face flamed. She closed her eyes, trembling slightly.

He wrapped strong arms around her in a gentle embrace. "I remember a merry revel, and a drinking contest. Ballymar whisky, and some Border lads." She felt his lips smile against her hair. "And that's part of what's not adding up right there. Not only do I not remember seeing those particular men at Court before or since, I've had Ballymar whisky since that time, and I assure you it normally takes a much greater quantity than what I remember having at that revel to have that much of an effect on me."

"Maybe you just had so much, you can't remember exactly how much you drank?" Celsie ventured, her voice shaky.

She felt him shake his head. "Possibly, but I doubt it. There's also the matter of the missing handkerchief." He drew back slightly to look at her. "The one you've never replaced, by the way."

Celsie swallowed. "I'm sorry. I will make you a new one, I promise."

Derry nodded. 'You said you couldn't replace it right away because of some problem with the spell work, and that you'd need to ask permission before you could make another. Did something go wrong with the first one?"

She shook her head, pretending to misunderstand. "No, it saved your life, remember?"

"Ah, yes. I meant the _second_ one. My Twelfth Night present. The one that disappeared the same day I got it. Did something go so badly wrong with that present, you weren't permitted to make me another? Because clearly the mere fact I'm still alive attests to the fact that there was no problem with the spell work on my first."

Tears leaked out from under her lashes. "Oh, Jesú, Sean, don't make me tell you! You'll only hate me for it."

"I won't hate you, Celsie." He smoothed a hand down her hair. "I just need to know. It's been niggling at me for years, that memory I can't remember anymore but should." He took one of her hands, frowning thoughtfully at it. "You know I allow Alaric access to my mind, I'm sure. There...might have been times when he's had to..._modify_ a few things while he's in there; I couldn't really say for certain, of course. It's not a liberty I would wish just anyone to take, obviously; I only grant it in his case because I trust him fully. And still...I'd be lying if I said it's not a difficult sort of trust, and one I yield only reluctantly, even to him." He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing it gently. "I will assume, if he altered my memories of that evening or allowed them to be altered by someone else, it was only because he desired either to protect me or to protect someone else. I won't ask you _who_ tampered with me. But it would help, I think, if at least I knew a little of _why_ it happened."

Celsie bit her lip. "It happened because I was an ignorant child," she finally managed, her voice breaking. "I wanted... I _thought_ I wanted...Oh, Sean, _please_ don't make me confess this! Confessing to the Bishop was hard enough, and he's Deryni!"

Derry thought back to the young demoiselle he'd met in her seventeenth year. Of how sheltered and innocent and naïve she'd been then, how starry-eyed with excitement she'd been over her first trip to Rhemuth. And also about him...

"Sweeting, I might have forgotten _this _matter, but I've forgotten nothing about the girl you were then." He chuckled softly. "Was it a love spell? You were…rather embarrassingly infatuated, as I recall."

She pressed her free hand to her lips, blinking away tears. "I prayed that you'd fall in love with me, and be a true and honest husband." Her hand dropped to her lap as she looked up at him with a bitter smile. "Don't worry; it never got as far as the 'husband' part, though Jesú, you were honest!" A mirthless laugh. "Most bluntly so!" She twisted a fold in her skirt, unable to meet his eyes. "I didn't realize...I didn't know it would override your free will, that it wouldn't be..." She shook her head. "It wasn't real love, Sean. _None_ of it was real. And you're right, your memories were altered. To protect me." She closed her eyes again, unable to look at him. "And because you were already so magic-leery. I never meant to do anything to harm you, or that might frighten you after…if you'd known…."

Derry studied her in concern. "I didn't...harm you, did I?"

"Harm?" She turned a dull look at him, his meaning only sinking in belatedly. Celsie blushed. "Oh, no! No, nothing like that." She smiled sadly. 'You just...became extremely amorous for a few minutes. In the middle of the Great Hall."

He nodded. "Ah. Then that explains the other unsolved mystery." At her questioning look, he told her, "A few days after Twelfth Night, someone asked me if I was newly betrothed. I'd apparently been spotted in a passionate embrace under the mistletoe with a beautiful blonde demoiselle in one of the window embrasures. Needless to say, having no memory of that event myself, I was quite baffled and put it down to mistaken identity. But he described what I'd been wearing perfectly. Later, when I realized that other things seemed amiss with my memories, I came to question that as well." He sighed, wiping away her tears gently. "I know you meant no harm, Celsie." Derry gave her a wry smile. "A woman whose tender conscience won't permit her to take away a stray cat's free will certainly isn't going to lightly meddle with a man's. Not intentionally. I trust, though, that you'll not allow anything of that sort to happen again? I don't take kindly to be tampered with without my leave." A tender stroke of her cheek softened the sting of his words, although Celsie flinched anyway.

"I won't. Oh, Sean, I'm _so_ sorry!"

He gathered her close. She buried her face in his shoulder, taking comfort in his embrace, grateful for his understanding, wishing—despite the pain of the past few minutes—that she could make this one moment last, for she never wanted to let him go. But even now, she knew he wasn't hers to cling to, so at last she straightened, pulling away.

Her eyes searched his now. "If this is to be a night for honesty, then, did you love Constanza?"

Derry dropped his gaze, picking up one of her hands again and stroking the back of it with his thumb idly as he considered the question. He shook his head finally. "I was very fond of Stanzi. I still am. But no, not in the way you mean." He looked back up at her. "Why do you ask?"

She stood, pulling her hand from his gently to wrap her arms around herself as she looked out the window, gazing out at her lands, at the distant hills beyond, in the direction of Derry's earldom. At last she turned slightly, the faintest of smiles just touching the corners of her lips as she transferred her gaze to him.

"I...needed to be certain your heart was free. Because you need heirs, and I know you love children and would be a good father to your own. And because _I_ want children, and…." She blushed, dropping her eyes. "I want a husband as well. I know we both want more than just that, but…." She dared to look back at him again. "With you, at least I'd feel like I had someone who understands what I am and accepts that. _Everything _that I am, not just my Deryni side. Maybe we could build on that, and more would come in time?" She glanced away again, at the moonlight edging the distant hills with faint light. "You needn't answer right now. Just…would you at least consider my offer?"

The Earl of Derry stared up at her from his window seat. "I…think so." He shook his head as if to clear it. "Did you just propose marriage to me, Celsie?"

"Yes." The faint smile twitched slightly. "Unless that 'm' word is apt to scare you off considering the offer altogether, in which case I'm merely proposing a…." She cast about for some alternative phrasing. "A hopefully mutually satisfying merger of lives."

"A merger of lives." Derry stood, chuckling at the rephrasing. "Celsie—"

She turned to face him, placing a fingertip on his lips. "Just think on it?"

Derry studied her as she gazed back at him nervously, her blue eyes very vulnerable at that moment, yet trusting as well. He nodded slowly. "Yes. I'll do that."

She nearly sagged with relief. "Thank you."

#

"Oh, I nearly forgot…I have a present for you!" Celsie informed him as they were bidding each other a good night. "I'd intended to give it to you last night, but…well, it didn't seem like the best time, under the circumstances."

"What, with the storm howling all around us and me in a blind panic over spending the night in compromising circumstances with Alaric's ward?" Derry joked.

She laughed. "Well, I was thinking more in terms of the damp air warping the stitchery, or the silk thread becoming water-spotted, but yes, that too! I'll be right back."

Celsie retreated to her bedchamber. Derry opened the door to his, using a piece of kindling to transfer fire from the hearth to a candle. Again, as he walked across the chamber to place the candle stand on his bedside table, a stray thought flitted through his mind, this one of him most pleasantly intertwined with his lovely hostess on the nearby mattress. He forced the thought away as the demoiselle returned, rapping gently on the open chamber door.

"Here you go." She took a cautious step into the room, handing the small wrapped package towards him. "I started to go with something safer, like a protective tunic…." Her eyes widened slightly, and she turned to look around the room, her cheeks going pink. "Oh, sweet Jesú, I forgot _that _was in here!" She picked up the embroidered pillow from the chair and turned as if to bring it back to her chamber, then evidently reconsidered. Turning on her heel, she strode towards the paneled wood wall instead, pushing a raised portion of the carving until a panel slid to one side, and tossed the pillow into the dark corridor beyond, blushing profusely.

Derry lifted a hand to hide a smile, raising his brows at her. "And what was _that_ for?"

"Um…that pillow was a bit of my earlier work." She dimpled up at him. "It's meant to bring gentle dream-visions to reveal the deepest desires of your heart, but I hadn't mastered the art of subtlety yet, so it's more like a shout than a whisper. I hope it wasn't too annoying, but if you've gotten bludgeoned by thoughts of suddenly acquiring R'Kassi's most breath-taking stallion every time you walked in here, that's why." She laughed. "Not that I intend to sell you my Seandry."

"Hm. And what visions do _you_ get? Collecting ten-thousand strays?" He grinned.

"That…would be easier to deal with," she said lightly, with a faint blush. "Here." She placed the present in his hand, but stopped him before he could unwrap it. "Before you open it, I should probably explain. It's just…a portrait, of sorts, and it only contains the magic of illusion in it, nothing more." Her blush grew. "And I know it's not the standard sort of gift a maiden normally gives to a man, but I figured…well…with you being well accustomed to the Courtly life, I thought you'd appreciate the artistic merits…."

His curiosity piqued now, he untied the ribbon holding the silken wrapping together. It fell open to reveal an inlaid wooden frame, like that of a small triptych, folded closed to conceal its contents. He opened the top panels.

The embroidery framed within was a portrait worked in Opus Andelonicum, the fine silk threads containing hues so varied and subtle in their shading that the work seemed almost to have been painted in oils instead. The subject was a young woman, her back to the viewer, her torso completely bare save for the loosely draped shawl looped around her hips. She was sitting, her head turned only slightly towards the viewer so that only a small portion of the woman's features were visible from the side. Her long golden hair was pulled over one shoulder, and her arms were gracefully raised to comb through the cascade of curls. Under one upraised arm lay the gentle curve of one breast, although the positioning of the woman's body still preserved most of her modesty.

As he looked at the portrait, it seemed almost to come alive, the rise and fall of the young woman's gentle breathing almost visible, the hair seeming to sway gently the moment his focus started to veer away. The gently parted lips seemed poised to speak. He watched the downswept brown lashes intently, wondering if they'd flutter upward to direct a gaze back over her shoulder at him, and if that gaze would be a startling blue.

Derry found himself holding his breath, as if hoping the maiden of the portrait would turn more fully to look at him.

At last he tore his gaze away, looking back up at Celsie, who regarded him shyly.

"You have _no_ idea how hard it was to adjust the mirrors so I could sketch that fool thing!" she told him, looking self-conscious. She took a step back. "Well…goodnight, Sean."

She returned to her own chamber. Derry folded the covering flaps of the frame back at enough of an angle to allow the portrait to stand upright on the bedside table, then prepared for bed, spending the next couple of hours in sleepless contemplation of magics, mergers, and secret passages.

#

Celsie crouched in the stable storeroom, allowing her new cat to sniff cautiously at her fingers. She looked up at Derry. "So, you're off to Coroth?"

"Yes. If I leave now, I should arrive shortly before midday." Derry smiled. "Assuming no unexpected rainstorm."

The demoiselle laughed, setting the morsel of roast squab she held on the stone paving for the cat to nibble and then standing, wiping her fingertips surreptitiously on her apron. "Stay safe then."

"Celsie..." The Earl of Derry glanced through the storeroom door, checking in both directions to make sure no one else was close by before pulling her close. One hand cradled the back of her head as his other lay lightly on her back at waist level. He studied her face for a long moment before slowly lowering his head for a kiss.

Her dark lashes fluttered shut as he drew closer, her rosy lips parting slightly in anticipation. Derry brushed a light kiss across them, barely making contact at first, but then Celsie's arms stole up to encircle his neck, and he tightened his arm around her, pulling her yielding softness into him for a far more demanding kiss. She moaned softly.

After a minute he relaxed his hold on her, taking a small step back, though he didn't release her just yet. Celsie leaned back to look into his face.

"Are you considering a...merger between us?"

Derry chuckled. "_Considering_ it, yes." He brushed another light kiss on one of her temples then let her go. "Had to make sure that would go well," he said, grinning down at her. "Not that a lack of attraction has ever been a problem between us." He took her hand and kissed the back of it lightly. "I'll be returning to Derry at the end of the month. Shall I stop by here on the way?"

Celsie beamed. "Yes, do!"

He paused, studying her face. "And would you fancy a short trip to Derry with me?"

She looked surprised, then delighted. And then, after a moment, her face lit up with mischief. "Should I bring my father's lute?"

Derry's eyes crinkled. "Yes. Though lute music wafting out from the bathchamber might be just a little difficult to explain to my mother."

"Not nearly as difficult as other sounds wafting out from your bathchamber," she responded with a sassy grin, stepping out of his embrace, "although you'll have to commit the 'm' word first if you hoping for _those._"

"'Merger.' Right. Just let my mother get wind of your matrimonial hopes, and she'll be more likely to push you into the chamber with me and bar the door, and then tell me I won't be allowed out again until I've sired a legal heir."

"Now, _there's_ a thought. You'd be the best-scrubbed Earl of Derry in history!"

He laughed, closing the short distance between them to silence her once more with another kiss.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven **

The household at Chervignon, dressed in full livery, awaited their Duke's arrival in the Hall. Hassan flew in from the stables, taking a few moments to catch his breath before announcing that the Ducal Party had just arrived, although Celsie and Master Derwin had already known, having seen their approach from an upstairs window. Derwin thanked the lad then sent him out the back way so he could compose himself before returning to the stables to assist with the horses.

The mistress of Chervignon went to the entry porch to greet her overlord, her steward following a discreet couple of steps behind. Alaric Morgan made his leisurely way from stable courtyard to manor house, his keen gray eyes taking in recent repairs and other changes that had been made to the property since his last visit. At last his gaze flitted down from the rooftops to the Hall's entrance, catching Celsie's eyes, and he smiled.

Celsie swept the Duke of Corwyn a low, graceful curtsey. Behind her, Master Derwin gave an even more deferential bow. As they straightened, Celsie caught the eye of the smiling man behind the Duke.

Derry.

Her face blossomed with smiles. Alaric, noticing the transformation and also the cause for it, chuckled as the Earl of Derry approached to greet the demoiselle with a courtly bow of his own, bending over her hand to kiss it perhaps just a touch more lingeringly than was his customary wont, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

"That will be quite enough of that, Derry," Alaric joked. "The demoiselle of Chervignon is still under my protection." A surreptitious wink at their hostess caused her to stifle a laugh.

"My Lords, please accept the hospitality of my house. If it please Your Grace, my staff have prepared a small repast for you and your party in the Hall…or would you prefer to freshen up a bit beforehand?"

"Just a little, though we _are_ quite hungry," the Duke assured her.

"Master Derwin, would you show our guests to the chambers made ready for them?" Celsie's gaze swept the later arrivals approaching behind the Duke and the Earl. "Will Her Grace be coming along shortly?" she asked.

Alaric shook his head. "I'm afraid Grania has come down with a summer cold, and was feeling fretful. Richenda didn't wish to leave her in the nursery's care, under the circumstances." He gave Celsie a reassuring smile as the demoiselle began to look alarmed. "Oh, she's fine. Just very cranky. I can't imagine where she gets that from. I'm _never_ out of sorts." Behind him, his lieutenant stifled a none too polite snort, and Celsie suppressed a grin.

"Of course not, Your Grace." She took a step back, waving her guests towards the steward awaiting them at the entrance to the stairs. "If you'd like to follow Master Derwin, he'll see to your comfort while the kitchen staff makes ready for your meal."

#

The manor's guests were offered baths and fed, and shown around the manorial lands to see the improvements made since the Duke's last visit. At last the small party made its way back to the manor house,

In the meantime, Celsie's maidservants finished their preparations for her trip to Derry, packing clothing and other personal possessions, a small hamper of food, and a coffer containing gifts Celsie had made for the Earl's family. Three of her maids would be traveling with their mistress and the Ducal retinue to Derry's lands in the morning, to ensure she had female companionship and chaperonage.

The Duke caught Derry's eye as they re-entered the manor house together. He gave his liegeman a faint nod, then turned away, following Master Derwin as the steward led him down to the cellars to discuss the improvements made below stairs.

"Celsie, might I have a private word with you?" Derry asked, steering her towards an open door just off the Great Hall. It turned out to be the entrance to a short passage leading from the head of the hall to Chervignon's small chapel.

One of the demoiselle's maidservants followed uncertainly behind. Celsie turned to whisper to the young woman. After a moment, the maidservant bobbed an obedient curtsey and remained at the chapel entrance, still within sight of the two who moved further into the chamber, towards the altar rail, but allowing them as much privacy as could be allowed under the circumstances.

Derry looked around the tiny chapel with a slight smile on his face before returning his gaze to Celsie's upturned face. "Are you still in the habit of early Masses?"

She laughed softly. "Not as early as in Rhemuth, but yes, Father Benoit still serves Mass for the household every morning." She walked over to one side of the small room to light a candle. "And there's been many a prayer offered up for your reprobate soul here as well," she teased. "Oh, which reminds me!" She reached into her bodice, withdrawing a small square of embroidered fabric. "Your replacement handkerchief." She handed Derry the gift. "Don't worry; this one is quite safe."

"No love spells this time?" Derry asked with a wry smile.

"Absolutely none! Another charm of protection." She reached up to brush his sleeve with her hand. "I'll embroider a full undertunic for you like Alaric's someday, but I need to take your measure first."

"Celsie," Derry said, capturing her hands in his, "I have something for you as well." He kissed her fingertips then released both hands, fishing inside his doublet for a small scrap of silk, looking suddenly quite nervous as he drew it out, unfolding the tiny parcel to reveal what it contained. "This ring belonged to my mother, and hers also. The stones reminded me of your eyes, but if it doesn't suit…that is, if you'd prefer something different…." He halted as she smiled up at him and placed trembling fingertips to his lips.

"It's quite lovely, Sean. May I dare to hope that this means you've been considering the 'm' word?" Her lips twitched in an almost-grin.

Sean Earl Derry chuckled ruefully at himself. Dropping to one knee before the demoiselle of Chervignon, he took one of her hands and kissed it, slipping the ring onto her finger. "Lady Celsie, would you do me the very great honor of marrying me and becoming my Countess?"

Celsie laughed in delight, throwing her arms around Derry's neck as he quickly braced to avoid being overbalanced by her eager assault. "I absolutely _do_ accept, especially since you've quite manfully managed to say the word 'marry' without choking!"

He smiled sheepishly. "Well, 'merger' sounds too businesslike." He sobered, gazing into her eyes. "I don't want a businesslike marriage, Celsie."

"Neither do I." She buried her face in his neck. "I want laughter, and excitement, and comfort, and passion, and…oh, _all_ the things I always feel when I'm with you!"

He stood, drawing her close, enfolding her in a gentle embrace, lowering his lips to hers to impart a tender kiss. After a few moments, the kiss deepened as the unofficially betrothed couple wordlessly sealed their decision.

After a minute or so, a cough sounded from the doorway. Derry pulled back, expecting to be greeted by the maidservant's reproving look. Instead, he and Celsie saw Alaric lounging in the doorway, a faint grin on his face.

"May I take it from the rapturous expression on my ward's face that she found your proposal acceptable, or should I just call you out for attempting a seduction on consecrated ground?"

Celsie laughed. "Go easy on him, Alaric! Sean just said the 'marry' word and he didn't die."

A blond eyebrow rose. "Oh? Well, that calls for some leniency, then." His gray eyes twinkled at the couple. "So, shall we head upstairs instead and work out the betrothal contract?"

As the bridal couple and their liegelord worked out the finer details of the betrothal terms together, Master Derwin, having been quickly apprised of the Lady of Chervignon's imminent change of status, swiftly consulted with the kitchen staff and other household members to put together a small celebratory feast, for all of the manorial household wished to extend hearty well-wishes and congratulations to the newly betrothed couple. The demoiselle also gave her approval for a much larger celebration to be held later, after the hay harvest, to which all of the manor's villeins and villagers would be invited. That night the manor's Great Hall rang with the sounds of music and merrymaking as the household rejoiced over the upcoming nuptials of Chervignon's fair young demoiselle.

#

The Ducal party set forth for Derry the following morn, this time with Lady Celsie and a handful of maidservants joining in their travels, stealing shy glances at the legendary Duke and the handsome Earl who was soon to become their new master.

They arrived at Derry's county seat just before noon. The Duke had sent a messenger a few hours ahead of the rest of the party, so Derry's household had been alerted to the party's imminent arrival. Countess Moira, the Dowager Countess of Derry, greeted her son's guests graciously, her happy countenance wreathed with smiles of welcome, especially for the ladies among the party, for she had also received the news of the Earl's betrothal by way of the Duke of Corwyn's messenger.

"Welcome to Derry!" she told Celsie, sweeping the younger woman into a warm embrace as soon as the demoiselle had dismounted from Aelfscine. "I have been waiting for _so_ long for Sean to bring home a bride. Or at least a bride-to-be," she corrected. "And when is the wedding date?" the Dowager Countess added with a pointed look at her son.

"Doubtless not soon enough for _you_, even if we wed tomorrow," Derry joked. "Patience, Mother! Give Celsie a few hours to get acquainted with the place before you throw us into the chapel together and bar the doors from the outside."

The Dowager Countess rolled her eyes at Celsie. "If I thought that would work, I'd be half tempted." She favored her future daughter-in-law with an engaging grin that reminded Celsie of her son's. "Come, let me show you and your maids upstairs to your chambers so you can get settled in."

#

It was the work of two long weeks of labor in the Dowager Countess's solar to make the final preparations for the wedding of the Earl of Derry to the demoiselle of Chervignon, the hours engaged in making fripperies for the future Countess and her bridal party and in decorating both Great Hall and chapel, for now that Countess Moira had a wedding in sight for her son, she would brook no delay in the upcoming marriage. In the time not spent sewing, embroidering, and becoming better acquainted with one another, the Dowager Countess gradually introduced Celsie to the Derry household and accounts, and was pleasantly surprised by the demoiselle's quick grasp of the latter.

"Won't you be staying on with us here at Derry once Sean and I marry?" Celsie asked her one evening, after the Countess casually mentioned her intention to travel once the newlywed couple had settled into their honey-month.

"Oh, I'm certain I shall return here every now and again," the Countess assured her. "I shall want to spoil my son's heirs, you know." She smiled. "But I've wished to visit my brother Trevor for some time, and have had little opportunity to do so of late, and from Varagh I'm hoping to visit my daughters Elsavere and Elspeth and their families. And the Duchess of Corwyn has welcomed me back for another visit to Coroth once I'm free of my obligations here. I do so long to see how much her children have grown since I was there last! At any rate, I firmly believe a newlywed couple should have some time to themselves to settle into marriage." With a twinkle in her eye, she added, "_And_ to get an heir. I'm quite certain Sean would prefer to do his duty to his Earldom without his mother's supervision and well-meant advice."

Celsie laughed, her cheeks flushing pink. Countess Moira smiled. "And more to the point, dear," the Dowager Countess added, "_you_ need to establish yourself in the household as the new Countess of Derry. _My_ time as Derry's Countess has come and gone, but if you wish the staff to become fully answerable to you, then I need to leave the household at least for a time, so they can grow used to looking to you for direction and not to me. I would do you no great service by staying."

#

The happy day finally arrived, the days immediately preceding it bringing a steady influx of visitors to Derry's Court. Duchess Richenda at long last made her way to Derry with her retinue, her younger children all having weathered their summer colds without further mishap or complications, and deemed sufficiently recovered to remain with their nurses during their mother's short absence. Young Brendan, on the other hand, was deemed old enough to accompany his mother, representing the Earldom of Marley in celebrating the union of Derry and Chervignon, and Briony had insisted on attending her 'Uncle Seandry's' wedding. The Earl of Derry was quietly amused at the numerous covertly wistful glances the star-struck young Marley kept directing towards his blissfully oblivious bride-to-be.

Other visitors covered greater distances to be present at the nuptials. Celsie's heart-sisters from her days at Rhemuth's Court arrived, one after another. Lady Sophie and Sir Seisyll arrived first, bringing with them glad tidings of the recent births of the Princesses Araxandra and Rhuÿs. Snug in her father's arms travelled a dark-haired, blue-violet eyed beauty, Stefania de Arilan, her toddler eyes bright with curiosity as she allowed herself to be drawn into her "Tante" Celsie's welcoming embrace. A slight bump in Lady Sophie's otherwise still slender silhouette hinted at another Arilan in the making, one which—Sophie later informed Celsie—the Arilans had already sensed would be Seisyll's future heir.

Sir Jass and Lady Ailidh arrived a couple of days later, just barely in time for the coming day's wedding, having set forth from Transha almost as soon as they'd received the news of Celsie's upcoming marriage. With them travelled their heir, young Ciarán Dhugal MacArdry, who quickly found much mischief to get into with the somewhat more tentative Stefania Arilan, much to their mothers' dismay. Sir Jass soon took both toddlers in hand, swinging each over a brawny shoulder to carry them outside to a courtyard where they could run off their boundless energies and get into even more father-approved and instigated mischief, so that Ailidh would have her hands free to tend to their infant daughter Aine Rose.

The Contessa Constanza diplomatically sent her regrets, wishing the bridal couple every happiness but informing them of her own quite recent remarriage, much to Celsie's quiet relief. As a token of her esteem for the newlyweds, she sent a mare nearly equal to Seandry's magnificence for the Derry stables. After briefly entertaining the notions of naming the fine beast either "Constanza" or "Celeste," the Earl chose the better part of discretion and ambiguity and named her "Countess" instead. He had no wish to die at his new bride's hands before siring an heir.

#

The celebrant for the wedding Mass was Derry's chaplain, a young priest close to the Earl's age who jokingly confessed to Celsie beforehand that he'd half expected to grow old and gray before being asked to perform this particular office for the Earl. The chapel was redolent with the perfume of roses, for the ladies had gathered the early summer blooms to decorate both chapel and bridal bower. Even little Briony had assisted in this, lending nimble fingers to the weaving of rose garlands once Duchess Richenda had divested the woody stems of thorns that might prick tender flesh.

Once the vows had been exchanged and the Mass celebrated, the wedding guests retreated to the feast awaiting them in Derry's Great Hall, toasting the Earl and his new Countess and celebrating in ballad after increasingly bawdier ballad. After the last remove had been enjoyed and a final toast had been raised, the ladies ushered Celsie upstairs to the bridal bower, their voices uplifted in more traditional wedding songs. The men, on the other hand, took a brief detour en route to the bed-chamber, for Sir Seisyll had told Alaric of the Nyford custom of betrothal dunkings the night before during the pre-nuptial revelry the men had enjoyed in celebrating Derry's final night of bachelorhood. Derry, suspecting a plot was afoot, had neatly evaded most of the conspirators during the earlier part of the day, but it was widely agreed that Derry would not be needing to spend the rest of the day clothed, now that he was newly-married, so surely his new bride would appreciate a freshly cleansed—or at least freshly watered—bridegroom. Besides, no one wished the ardent bridegroom to faint in the summer heat. Thus it was that the Earl found himself being carried aloft on several sets of strong shoulders and pitched headlong into a nearby spring before the men finally conveyed him to his bride. The ladies, watching from the bedchamber windows, were convulsed in giggles by the time the sodden Derry was sung to his bride's side in manly voices more enthusiastic than in proper tune.

The priest, suppressing his own smirk and flicking a few drops of fresh spring water off his stole, blessed the bed once Derry had divested himself of his soaked clothing behind the screen and slid under the sheets beside Celsie, who let out a shriek of laughter as his now ice cold flesh encountered her warm form.

After the Dowager Countess Moira jokingly suggested another brief prayer for circulation to return swiftly to her son's extremities, for Derry was in great need of an heir, the wedding guests sang one more bridal song and then departed for the evening.

#

"You look like you've already visited the bathchamber," Celsie remarked. "Tell me they didn't toss in my father's lute after you!"

"Come warm me, woman," Derry said, only half joking as he pulled his new bride into his arms, laughing into her neck as she squealed and pushed him away.

"I've waited nearly four years for you; I think I can wait another five minutes while you warm by the fire!" Celsie yelped as she slid out of bed, pulling her new husband with her towards the hearth.

"Now, _this_ brings back memories," he told her. "All we need is a rainstorm outside. By the way, did you know I can see straight through that silk?" He gave her gowned form an appreciative once-over.

"At least it's dry."

"Not for much longer," Derry corrected, pulling her into a rather damp embrace. After a few more moments, she forgot to protest as she found herself besieged by an ardent husband obviously warming up to the task at hand.

"Rug's dry, too," she whispered after a few minutes, once she managed to pull free long enough to speak. "Probably drier than the sheets," she added, tousling his soggy curls.

"There's a thought," he replied, pulling her down onto the soft fur beneath their feet. "Tell me you're not sleeping with your rosary tonight!"

"It's retired until the morn—"

Her long-awaited bridegroom's kisses muffled what remained of her answer.


End file.
